Part 3: Black resistance in two commonly appearing verses of John Henry
John Henry: The Rebel Versions
by Jim Hauser Contact: jphauser2000 (at) yahoo (dot) com
The black writer James Baldwin opened his essay "Many Thousands Gone" with the following words:
It is only in his music, which Americans are able to admire because a protective sentimentality limits their understanding of it, that the Negro in America has been able to tell his story.
If this statement from Baldwin is an accurate description of black music, then we need to consider whether it applies to one of the greatest and most popular of all African American songs: "John Henry." It may be that John Henry's glorious victory and tragic death are just part of the story being told in the ballad. Considering Baldwin's words, in order to fully appreciate "John Henry"--and other black songs--we may need to explore the possibility that we do not fully comprehend the significance and meaning of these songs. In the discussion below, I look at the possibility of the existence of black resistance in two commonly appearing verses of "John Henry." I can not provide absolute proof that these verses contain lyrics of black resistance, but I think it's important that we explore the possibilities and consider the likelihood of this being the case. Because, if Baldwin's statement is correct, our being aware of the possibilities will contribute to a greater likelihood that we will recognize materials that serve as evidence--or proof--of the truth contained in that statement.
The "Who's gonna kiss your rosy cheek?" verse
A good number of the many versions of "John Henry" include certain lyrics which were borrowed from the Scottish ballad "Lass of Loch Royal." An example of these borrowed lyrics is below. They appear in a version of "John Henry" published in the book Negro Workaday Songs by Howard W. Odum and Guy B. Johnson.
John Henry said to his woman,
"Who gonna shoe yo' little feet?
Who gonna kiss yo' rosy cheeks?
Who gonna be yo' man?
The black writer Sterling Brown made reference to the borrowed lyrics in an interview with folklorist William Ferris (published in Ferris's book The Storied South: Voices of Writers and Artists). Brown's statement is below.
I rearranged [Calvin Big Boy Davis's] songs for The Negro Caravan, and that, of course, is bad folklore. You ought to give them actually as said. Instead of putting in, "Who's gonna glove your hand / who's gonna kiss your rosy, rosy cheek," I changed the lyrics from "your rosy, rosy cheek" to "your pretty, pretty cheek," because it was about a black woman who did not have no rosy, rosy cheek. I f**ked with it, so I am not a good folklorist. (see Notes 1 and 2)
The above statement from Brown prompted me to think about the possibility that at least some African Americans may have interpreted the verse as referring not to a black woman, but to a white woman. During the days of Jim Crow, a black man who became romantically or sexually involved with a white woman literally risked death at the hands of outraged whites. Could it be that this verse from "John Henry" was a way for black people to sing about breaking that racial taboo?
The "Polly drove steel like a man" verse
Below is a commonly appearing verse in “John Henry” in which John Henry falls ill and his woman Polly Ann takes his place on the job. In some versions of the song, Polly Ann takes John Henry's place after he dies.
John Henry had a little woman
Her name was Polly Ann
John Henry took sick and had to go to bed
Well, Polly drove steel like a man
Yes, Polly drove steel like a man
The above verse could have had at least two widely differing interpretations: one which saw a positive side to Polly's taking up John Henry's hammer, and another which viewed Polly's situation as unfortunate. On the positive side, the verse could have been interpreted as praising Polly’s prowess with a hammer or celebrating her spirit to do what it took to survive. The many uptempo recorded performances of “John Henry” might have influenced listeners into making an interpretation such as this. But a diametrically opposed interpretation may have been given to the verse by listeners who knew that tunnel-building was extremely dangerous and back-breakingly hard work. Those listeners may have looked upon Polly’s taking John Henry’s place in the tunnel as a great tragedy, not a triumph. Many tunnel builders were killed, seriously injured, or disabled as a result of their labors. And even if a worker was lucky enough to avoid any serious accidents or injuries, he still had a very high chance of dying, or becoming disabled, from breathing in the tiny particles of dust created by drilling and blasting. Tunnel workers and others who were familiar with the hazards and physical demands of building railroad tunnels probably would have looked upon the idea of Polly replacing John Henry on the job as a terribly tragic outcome of his death or illness.
In addition to the grim realities of tunnel work, another factor which may have led to interpreting the "Polly drove steel like a man" verse as a tragedy would have been performances of "John Henry" at a slow tempo or in a mournful tone. An example of such a performance is the recording made in 1948 on Parchman Farm which I cited earlier in Part One of this essay. It was sung slowly and mournfully and has been described by Scott R. Nelson as sounding like a dirge. A second example is the version Ernest Booth heard in prison (identified as Rebel version #1 in Part One of this essay). Booth described it as sad and slow, “dirgelike in its low, primitive prolongation.” A third example is Paul Robeson’s version of “John Henry” which ends with the “Polly drove steel like a man” line, and is sung in a very solemn and mournful manner. These versions might have influenced listeners into thinking that the “Polly drove steel like a man” verse was a lamentation. More specifically, listeners may have interpreted the lyric as bemoaning the fact that John Henry’s death or illness has left his woman alone to fend for herself and her family. Under this interpretation, the lyrics would have been particularly poignant from the point of view of African-Americans because it was extremely difficult for black families to survive financially, especially families who had lost a father.
In order to fully understand the meaning held in the "Polly drove steel like a man" verse, it may be necessary to take into account the possibility that it told a bitter truth about the lives of black women: emancipation did not free them from working long hours in the fields or doing other arduous work. As slaves, black women were not exempt by virtue of their gender from doing the physically demanding and often hazardous manual labor that men did. This continued to be the case during the days of Reconstruction and Jim Crow. William Ferris's Give My Poor Heart Ease, a book in which musicians tell stories about black life and blues music in the South, includes descriptions of the hard work that black women did. For example, it includes a man named Jasper Love telling of his grandmother--a former slave--being forced by a white man to work in the fields. She worked a mule drawn plow and also worked side by side with her husband and with other black women as a ship's roustabout rolling barrels of molasses up the gangplank. The passage of time did not change things. Ferris's book includes the story of another black woman named Martha Dunbar--about two generations younger than Love's grandmother--who tells of plowing for long hours and driving cattle.
And these conditions were not something limited to the South. Enobong Branch's book Opportunity Denied tells of black women being brought into northern factories during World War I to do strenuous work normally performed by men. According to Branch, "no job was too hard, too dirty, or too demeaning" for black women. On the other hand, white women were assigned to jobs with lighter duties and work thought to be acceptable for women. Treating black women in this way--as if they were not really women or even human--was a legacy of slavery's bestialization of black labor. The "Polly drove steel like a man" verse may have served, at least partly, as a testament or protest against this treatment. Even if the verse didn't specifically serve this function, it seems quite likely that black women who did the work of men would have heard the "Polly drove steel" verse as a reflection of their own lives. The husbands and children of these women would have made the same connection. The whole family may have been proud of the fact that the mother was doing what was necessary to make a better life for her family, but they also would have greatly resented that the sacrifices she made were necessary and they would have recognized that racial inequality was the root of it all.
A particularly brutal aspect of treating African American women as if they were no different from men was the practice of sentencing them to work on chain gangs. Ma Rainey, known as The Mother of the Blues, sang of being sentenced by a judge to ninety days on the county road in "Chain Gang Blues."
Many days of sorrow, many nights of woe
Many days of sorrow, many nights of woe
And a ball and chain, everywhere I go
Chains on my feet, padlock on my hand
Chains on my feet, padlock on my hand
It's all on account of stealing a woman's man
Rainey's song was not a nightmarish fantasy created by her imagination--it was a reflection of reality. In an article titled "'Like I Was a Man," Sarah Haley writes that between the years 1908 and 1938 nearly two thousand black women were sent to work on chain gangs in the state of Georgia (Rainey's home state). In comparison, only four white women were sentenced to Georgia's chain gangs during that same time period. Conditions on chain gangs in the Jim Crow South are known to have included whippings, overwork, being hit with rifles, being served rotten food, etc. Among those black women sent to the chain gang were a 64 year old named Lizzie McConnell, a 61 year old named Minnie Smith, and two teenagers, Stella Kemp and Lucy Jackson. To women such as these, it seems highly likely that upon hearing the line "Polly drove steel like a man" they would have seen themselves in Polly's place.
I also want to point out that African American listeners may have interpreted the "Polly drove steel like a man" line in connection with its similarity to the line “They were driving the women just like the men.” The latter line appears in various African American songs, including the song with which it is most identified, a prison work song titled “There Ain’t No More Cane on the Brazos." (See Note 3)
Oughta been on the river in 1904
Could find a dead man on every turn row
Oughta been on the river in 1910
They were driving the women just like the men
The above lines were sung by Texas convicts who labored as convict lease workers on the sugar cane plantations along the Brazos River, and they served as a testament against the brutality that took place in the fields while they worked. It’s possible that the convicts who sang this song, and others who were familiar with it, would have noticed the similarity of the line "They were driving the women just like the men" to the line “Polly drove steel like a man.” Those who recognized the similarity may have interpreted the “Polly drove steel” line as a protest. They may have even pictured Polly working as a convict lease worker like themselves, or on a chain gang.
A variation to the line "They were drivin' the women just like the men" appears in the song "Lord, It's All, Almost Done" which is included in John and Alan Lomax's book Our Singing Country. The line is used as a protest against chain gang cruelty, but, in this case, the cruelty is perpetrated against a boy rather than a woman. (see Note 4)
Says, she whispered, whispered to her mother,
"Mother, I can't, can't see how he stand,"
Says, "He ain't, ain't but sweet sixteen,
An' they drivin' him like a man."
NOTES:
Note 1. Background on Calvin Davis
Calvin "Big Boy" Davis was a wandering guitar-playing roustabout who developed a very close friendship with Sterling Brown. Brown's poem "Odyssey of Big Boy" was inspired by Davis.
Note 2. The Negro Caravan
The Negro Caravan is the title of an anthology of African American literature selected and edited by Sterling Brown, Arthur P. Davis, and Ulysses Lee which includes short stories, selections from novels, essays, speeches, letters, and folk (oral) literature.
Note 3. Other recordings with the "They were driving the women just like the men" verse
The "They were driving the women just like the men" verse or variations to it appear in many recordings including Lightnin' Hopkins's "Bud Russell Blues" and Mance Lipscomb's “Captain Captain." Selected lyrics from Lipscomb's song are below.
Oughta been down on the levee, nineteen an thirty-foe,
Oughta been down on the levee, in nineteen an thirty-foe.
See the dead men, layin on every turnrow.
Should a been down on the river, man, nineteen an ten,
Should a been down on the river in the year of nineteen an ten.
Women woe the ball and chain, jest like the men.
Note 4. "Lord, It's All, Almost Done"
Leadbelly recorded at least one version of "Lord, It's All, Almost Done" under the title "On a Monday." The version by Leadbelly which I am familiar with does not include the verse cited above in which a 16 year old boy on a chain gang is driven like a man.
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Examples of resistance in various African American songs
It should not be surprising to find John Henry resisting or rebelling against his captain in some versions of the ballad when you consider that workers who were whipped, beaten, overworked, or mistreated by their captains or bosses must have wanted to stand up against them and fight back. They even sang songs in which they complained about how they were treated and threatened to retaliate. Singing songs like this may have served as a way to indirectly and safely fight back. Some example verses from such songs are below.
Examples 1 through 4 below all appear in the "Negro Gang Songs" section of the book Our Singing Country: Folk Songs and Ballads which was compiled by John A. Lomax and Alan Lomax. At least three of them (examples 1 to 3) were collected from black convicts in state prisons.
Example 1 ("I Got to Roll" from page 391 of Our Singing Country: Folk Songs and Ballads compiled by John A. Lomax and Alan Lomax)
Selected verses from "I Got to Roll" are below. In one, the worker expresses resistance by implying that he will be able to get away with doing less work now that he has discovered that the captain is blind. In another verse, he expresses further resistance by stating that he shouldn't have sold his firearm, which he refers to as a "special."
If I'd 'a' knowed my cap'n was blind
I wouldn't 'a' went to work till half past nine.
If I'd 'a' knowed my cap'n was bad
I wouldn't 'a' sold that special that I once did had.
Example 2 ("You Kicked and Stomped and Beat Me" from page 392 of Our Singing Country)
The second and third verses from "You Kicked and Stomped and Beat Me" are below. In one verse, the worker complains to the captain about beating him. In the second verse, the worker makes a threat against the captain.
Well, you kicked and stomped and beat me; (repeat twice more)
Kind cap'n, and you called that fun, sir.
If I catch you in my home town, (repeat twice more)
Goin' to make you run, sir.
Example 3 ("Drive It On" from page 393 of Our Singing Country)
The eighth and ninth verses from "Drive It On" are below. Both of them are variations to the two verses above in example 2. These verses are probably maverick (floating) verses which migrated from song to song.
Oh, well, you kicked and stomped and beat me,
Oh, Captain, and you called it fun, oh, Lawd
Well, I may meet you over in Memphis,
Oh, Captain, we're goin' t' have a little run, oh, Lawd
Example 4 ("Take This Hammer" from page 381 of Our Singing Country)
In this song, the laborer threatens to take the captain's gun from him.
Cap'n got a big gun, (huh!) an' he try to play bad. (huh!)
Go'n' take it in the mornin' if he make me mad. (huh!)
Example 5 ("Levee Camp Holler" from pages 50 and 52 of American Ballads and Folk Songs compiled by John A. Lomax and Alan Lomax)
In "Levee Camp Holler," we again see the worker threatening to take the captain's gun. In another verse, the worker threatens to whip the captain. And in a third verse, the worker suggests that a muleskinner (a laborer who works with mules) is beating the walking boss.
Heerd a mighty rumblin' down 'bout de water trough
Mus' been de 'skinner whoppin' hell out de walkin' boss.
Cap'n got a .44 an' he try to play bad,
Take it dis mornin' ef he make me mad.
Well, if I had my weight in lime*
I'd whip my cap'n till he wen' stone blin'.
* It has been suggested by at least one writer that "If I had my weight in lime" may mean "If I were a white man."
Example 6 ("Grade Song" from page 382 of Odum's article "Folk-Song and Folk-Poetry as Found...")
In "Grade Song," just as in "Levee Camp Holler," the laborer threatens to whip his captain. In another verse, the worker complains of being worked in the rain all day.
Well if I had my weight in lime,
I'd whip my captain till I went stone-blind.
Well, cap'n, cap'n, didn't you say
You wouldn't work me in rain all day?
Example 7 ("Told My Captain" from page 16 of Lawrence Gellert's Me and My Captain: Chain Gang Songs of Negro Protest)
"Told My Captain" includes several verses similar to verses in "Grade Song" including the two verses in Example 6.
Captain, Captain, the rule book say,
You can't work us in the rain all day
If I had my weight in lime,
I'd whip the Captain till he went stone blind
The name Bud (or Bob) Russell appears in examples 8 and 9. Bud Russell was a well-known prison transfer agent who picked up convicted men and women from throughout the state of Texas and transported them to the state's prisons. In example 8, Russell is not a transfer agent, but instead is in the role of a boss of a gang of free workers. In example 9, Russell occupies the role of an overseer of a prison work gang.
Example 8 ("Out In De Rain" from pages 14 and 15 of Lawrence Gellert's Negro Songs of Protest)
In the verses below from "Out In De Rain," the worker complains about the meanness of Bud Russell (his captain)--whom he claims will shoot you if you ask for your pay--in one verse, and, in another verse, threatens to use his gun against Russell if he continues to mistreat him.
Cap'n Bob Russell, meanes' man in town,
Ef you ast fo' yo' money, he shoot you down
He better not come mess wit' me no mo'
Ah's all ready dis time wit mah foht'y-fo'
Example 9 ("Penitentiary Blues" also known as "Bud Russell Blues" by Lightnin' Hopkins)
In "Penitentiary Blues," Texas bluesman Lightnin' Hopkins sings of the brutality of Bud Russell in a verse which is a variation to one often found in the Texas prison song "Ain't No More Cane on the Brazos." In another verse, Hopkins sings of retaliating against the boss, and, in anticipation of the consequences of doing that, he asks that his wife and child be taken care of.
Lord, ya oughta been on Big Brazos
Oh, man, nineteen-hundred-and-ten.
Yeah, man, ya oughta been on Big Brazos
(Lord have mercy!)
Young man, in nineteen-hundred-and-ten.
Ya know Bud Russell drove pretty womens
Just like he did them ugly mens.
Please take care of my wife 'n' child
I may not 'turn back to my home life.
Please take care of my wife 'n' child
(uh hmmm)
I may not 'turn back to my home life.
You know the next time the bossman hit me
I'm, I'm gonna give him a big surprise.
I ain't jokin' neither.
SOURCES: A list of sources, including books, articles, liner notes, and sound recordings consulted in the creation of the content of this website is on a separate webpage titled "Sources".
Copyright © 2013-2014 by James P. Hauser except where otherwise noted. All rights reserved.